I think that means summer is officially over.
I have a love/hate relationship with the weather. I like the summer heat, the juicy tang of a perfectly ripened strawberry, tomatoes as red as … well … a tomato. As long as there is the promise of an air-conditioned reprieve, I could live in a tropical weather pattern for the rest of my life. Who needs the cold! And snow … oh my gosh, don’t get me started on how much I hate snow. If I had to choose snow or leftover liver, I think I would have to answer with, “Surprise me”. The shocking blue spark that shoots from my fingers every time I touch something metal; the naked trees that let me see Farmer Gibbons’ house six miles away; the instantaneous runny nose from daring to venture out beyond my front door … these are the things I can live without forever. On the other hand, I love the crisp scent of apples at the orchard, the homey comfort of a roast beef after coming in from a cold outdoor walk, and the ensuing holiday festivities. But I think my favorite part about cold weather has to be the clothes.
Winter clothes are a fat chick’s delight. All summer long, skinny girls prance around in bathing suits that amount to little more than hankies and dental floss while the rest of us are searching for something to wear that both covers and reduces the threat of a heat stroke. I remember walking into a store last summer and searching in vain for a swimsuit that was larger than Barbie’s dream handbag. I walked up to a sales associate (whose center of gravity could have been easily relocated if I’d sneezed on her) and said, “Hi. Do you have swimsuits in larger sizes that actually cover more flesh than a postage stamp?” She said, “Like, yeah, we have one on that clearance rack that’s kinda big.” I tried to keep my smile from appearing forced, “Oh, you mean the size 8 two-piece in the lovely poop brown? Thanks, but I was hoping for something more likely to fit Barbie’s fat cousin, Pork-Barbie-Q.” I kept walking through the mall. Store after store, disappointment after disappointment. The suits that were long enough to fit tall chick like me were available in a convenient XXXL size 8. The suits that were big enough to fit a fat chick like me were available in a length known as “Munchkin-Land”. I tried it on and laughed when the bra cups hit below my rib cage. More walking, more searching, and I found a 2-piece that claimed to “cover like a 1-piece with the fun mix-n-match of a 2-piece!” As I tried it on, my eyes squinted in fear of what I would see in the mirror, I knew instantly it was a failure. Through the shadow of my eyelashes, I saw a 4-inch gap between the bottom of the top and the top of the bottom. (Say that 10 times fast.) I wasn’t sure if I should laugh or cry, so I did a little of both. I finally broke down and ordered a swimsuit off the internet. Search after search revealed little but I managed to find a website that offered exactly 1 suit in my size/length. It was still too short, but I stretched the dickens out of it.
These are the trials that make me glad to see autumn rear it’s cold little head. Boots, pashminas, layers … forget diamonds, these are a girl’s best friend! How can you feel self-conscious in boots?! It’s awesome, and it’s almost enough to make me stop hating the cold weather. Almost.
Once again, I shuffle my frozen joints to the car and see The Yankee has actually scraped the frost off my windshield this morning instead of writing a clever note. My skin burns from the wind and my nose runs. I am tempted to hate the feeling, but then I turn my thoughts to baked apples, Christmas cheer, and swimsuit shopping for Pork-Barbie-Q. Suddenly, I feel alive again.
© Bertha Grizzly 2011. All Rights Reserved. No duplication or distribution.